


Close Shave

by dugindeep (hotsauce)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Incest, M/M, Oral Sex, Shaving, Shaving Kink, Sibling Incest, hairless kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:55:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23911921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotsauce/pseuds/dugindeep
Summary: Sam goes from Grief Beard to straight up Relief Shave and becomes more and more curious with the feeling of a close shave. Dean seems curious, too.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 8
Kudos: 140
Collections: SPN_Masquerade Spring 2020





	Close Shave

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [SPN_Masquerade Spring 2020](https://spn-masquerade.livejournal.com/10986.html) for the prompt: 
> 
> _"It's so smooth. It's like a... dolphin's belly." After Sam shaves his beard, Dean becomes obsessed with Sam being smooth all over the rest of his body._
> 
> Originally posted [here](https://spn-masquerade.livejournal.com/10986.html?thread=4239594#t4239594).

While Dean was gone, Michael all cooped up in his noggin, Sam got to business with the folks from the other world. He also got busy growing a pretty impressive grief beard. _He_ thought it was pretty impressive, even if others – _Dean_ – didn’t see the glory of it.

If anything, Sam relished sleeping in a little later and forgoing a morning shave, sometimes just rolling out of bed to get to work, squeezing in a shower somewhere between the third cup of coffee and his daily check-ins with Maggie when she was out in the field. It was out of the norm for his early-to-rise internal clock, but nothing was the norm lately. The Winchesters had seen and lived through a myriad of things, but it felt like the dawn of every new day now brought him a new horror to manage. Alone.

When Dean was finally free of Michael and finally back in his room, Sam rested easy, knowing they were back to normal … or as normal as the Winchesters could get. Sure, Michael was still out there, somewhere, but Sam had his big brother back under the same roof, so he was more than happy to smile in the mirror as he wet a straight razor and prepared for what he’d dubbed a Relief Shave. 

Sam was happy to see a close cut again, to feel the smooth skin over his jaw, and he felt a bit more like him again. 

Dean, it seemed, was shocked. Or maybe he was impressed, with that wondrous little _It’s like a dolphin’s belly._

He’d scowled at his big brother, but Sam’s stomach had done a quick back flip and blood pumped warm through his veins. But Sam had a case for them, a little softball of a thing to get them back in rhythm, so he set aside that surprising reaction and they got back in the saddle.

*** 

Returning to routine, Sam woke every morning bright and early to shower and shave, taking the straight razor to his face and celebrating the easy slide of his fingers on his chin. Then his hand dragged down and he looked at his reflection, fingers pulling through the hair across his chest. 

He looked himself in the eye and down to his pecs as the razor also fell a few inches through the air. He had immediate doubts and brought the razor up above his shoulder as he glared at himself. 

They lived a rough and rumble kind of life, where clean laundry and even showers were sometimes a luxury. But this? His chest hair was no worry for him. He hadn’t bothered with it since Stanford … since he did it for Jess. For _someone else_.

Dean’s face flashed in the corner of his mind before Sam shoved it immediately away. Shoved the bathroom door closed, too. Locked it, just to keep some semblance of privacy while he stood there in just a towel. This wasn’t a big deal.

Right?

And even if it was, who was gonna see it? Who was gonna give him a hard time or notice? Dean could rib him for it, but that wouldn’t happen when there was no way Dean would see him without a shirt, right?

Right.

Okay. Sam finally convinced himself and made a tentative stroke over the highest curve of his left pec. He swore he could hear the loud scratch of each hair being cut, but then the drag of the razor on his shower-warm skin was a new sensation he wasn’t expecting. And there went his stomach with a rolling somersault and his breath caught for a second. 

If he enjoyed it, then that was fine. He could do this for himself. 

It took a few times to convince himself until he finally got the shaving cream back out of the cabinet, spread it across his chest, and got to work. 

It went slow, still careful with each touch of the blade to his skin, but he eventually shaved himself clean and watched the rest of the cream swirl down the drain. 

As he unlocked and opened the door, Dean appeared in front of him with a fist raised to knock.

“Christ on a cracker, Sam.” Dean threw his hands up in anger, even as his eyes were barely cracking open. “What’s taking you so long? Is attaching your wig really that time consuming?“

Sam served up a patented bitch face. It wasn’t even six in the morning yet and Dean was already crabbing at him. He’d snuck into the bathroom earlier than normal to avoid a run-in with anyone. Instead, he was facing off with his brother before either had any coffee, so Sam just righted the knot of the towel at his hips and tried to slip past Dean yet ended up just pushing himself right into Dean’s hands as he passed.

“Oh my god,” Dean mumbled, half shock and half confusion. One hand began to close around Sam’s pec as they both froze in place. “You going dolphin all over?”

Biting the inside of his mouth, Sam ignored any instincts to respond. Like stepping closer, shoving his chest into Dean’s grip, or even reaching to feel Dean’s morning scruff, a direct inverse to the smoothness of Sam’s face. And now his chest.

Dean’s fingernails pressed in just a fraction and he sucked in a breath before finally letting go, only to pat Sam’s pec a few quick times. Like it was no biggie. “Alright, cool, good talk. I gotta piss.”

Sam was shoved away for Dean to make his way into the bathroom and the door slammed loudly before Sam could really piece together exactly what all that meant. Dean’s reaction, motionless and flushed, sight refusing to focus on anything other than his hand on Sam’s chest. And then Sam’s own non-reaction to stay static, too, and stop breathing for a good ten seconds that stretched on far too long, while his mind forbade him from moving even an inch.

Not to mention the sound of the shower turning on and muffled grunting on the other side of the door. 

Sam leaned in, just short of putting his ear to the door, and it didn’t take long to understand Dean didn’t have to piss, but he had to take care of something else. Without an audience. 

*** 

After that, Sam got a little curious. 

Well, _a lot_ curious.

And it took a hell of a lot more courage and a week or so of time until he took an extra long shower as a disposable razor – or three – helped him get the job done. This time, when he stepped out of the shower, he was clean shaven across his lower abdomen, down, and under. 

He stood in front of the mirror as his chest heaved with a mixture of shame and exhilaration as his hand slipped under the towel tied at his waist and he checked his waist. The smoothness _everywhere_ made his breathing come even faster, choppy and loud, even as he laughed at himself for doing it. 

Watching his face react to the new feeling was more than a little embarrassing, really, and he saw his freshly shaven chest pinken in random spots, the flush spreading up his neck. 

Sam couldn’t stand to stay in this moment, so he rushed from the bathroom and into the hall, bee-lining for his door with his head down as he caught movement in front of him. 

It was Dean. With a curious look and sudden stop just before Sam’s bedroom door. “You okay?” he asked as his hand came up to Sam’s chest. And like that other morning, his fingers were gentle to touch, maybe even taking their time on the fresh landscape. “Sam.”

It wasn’t a question. Not quite a request. But there was something extra to his groggy morning voice. And something new in his eyes when he watched Sam closely. 

Sam, betrayed by his own body, felt a full-body flush heat up all over while one hand gripped at the knot of his towel and the other absently covered his groin. As if that would erase what Sam had spent most of his morning dealing with. Or hide his shame from his brother. 

It did neither, because Dean just nudged Sam across the threshold and into the bedroom. Sam moved without looking at Dean and when the door creaked shut, he flinched and turned around quickly. He finally met his brother’s eyes and pursed his lips to avoid any other kind of hint of what’s going on, or how Dean closing them inside his bedroom made his heart kick up. 

“Sam, what the hell’s going on with you? Lately, you’ve been kinda-”

“I’ve been nothing.”

“You’ve been awfully busy in the bathroom.” Dean smirked a bit and it was obvious in his voice. Especially when he added, “What kind of trouble are you getting into in there?” Dean stepped forward and gestured at his face. “I mean, you went with the close shave. And then the …” He waved at Sam, but by then, he was so close that he basically groped Sam’s chest.

Inadvertently or not, it got both of their attention. 

“And what about you?” Sam asked, defenses rising along with his voice. “You’ve been all weird just because I’m taking care of myself?”

Dean breathed deep and carefully looked at Sam. “Are you taking care of yourself for you or … for someone?”

Sam did his best not to gulp, but the swallow still sounded absurdly loud in the quiet between them. 

An eyebrow rose and Dean had a tic in his jaw when he grinded his teeth. “I didn’t know you had … someone.”

“I don’t,” Sam rushed to say. And it was true. Because for all these heavy feelings he’d carried for three-plus decades, he didn’t have Dean. Not like that. “I just wanted to see what it was like.”

“To shave your chest.”

Sam’s throat tightened and he tried his damndest to steady his breathing. Because it was more than his chest. And it meant more than just wanting to see what it was like. 

He’d wanted to see what Dean would like. Had thought about it far in the back of his mind, and just played this game by himself in the dark, middle of the night kind of thing. 

And now in the shower and early morning hours in the bathroom, it appeared.

Dean lifted the eyebrow again, curled one side of his mouth up, and let his voice go rough when he asked, “What else are you shaving, Sammy?” 

Surely, it was a joke. Any other time in their lives, for any other trivial thing, Sam would roll his eyes and shove his brother away to get back to cooking dinner or research or whatever. 

Instead, he squared his shoulder and set it out there between them, because they’re goddamn adults and Sam could do whatever the fuck he liked. He didn’t have to explain it. 

“I shaved other stuff. So what? What do you care, Dean?”

Now Dean was the one gulping, chest rising in deep breaths. “What other stuff?”

Dean had done all kinds of dumb shit in his life for shits and giggles, so Sam did his best to not care when being honest about _this_. “I shaved down there.” He shrugged, like a dare. “That okay with you?”

Dean’s sight dropped to Sam’s waist. On reflex, Sam looked at Dean’s waist, too, and he was shocked to see Dean’s fists at his side, squeezing and releasing the barest amounts, and then there was the slight bulge in his sleep pants. 

Sam pushed further, now hoping to turn the tables on Dean and embarrass the hell out of him after this charade. “You wanna see it or something?” 

It took a few slow moments to pass until Dean’s voice could be heard, soft and careful. “Can I?”

The world must have stopped, because Sam’s hearing fuzzed over and his heart sluggishly pounded deep in his chest as he considered the question. Never in a million years did he imagine he’d get anywhere near this close to his brother – _like this_ – and he most definitely never expected Dean to be the one to voice it first. 

Sam let another few seconds pass to confirm this reality and when Dean remained in front of him, steeling himself for Sam’s reaction, he opened the towel for Dean’s eyes. 

Slowly, Dean’s palm came up and pressed to the clean skin of Sam’s lower abdomen. The hand turned to cover every inch then ran lower as his eyes grew big and his lips turned in a tiny smile, like the reverent way he’d always take in Baby after a good wash and wax. 

Sam gasped when Dean’s hand went lower and his fingers danced over the smoothness of Sam’s balls and then went even further. 

“Damn, Sammy. You got it all.” Dean cupped Sam’s balls and squeezed a little, maybe even tugged. Or maybe that was Sam going up on his toes as he warred between breaking from the moment and staying firmly planted in it. “And I do mean that you got _it all_.”

“Dean.” It wasn’t a protest. Not at all. It was definitely a request, and Dean _most definitely_ answered with a swift drop to his knees. Sam opened his mouth wide to gather all the air he could manage, which still wasn’t enough, as he nearly hyperventilated when Dean leaned in close and rubbed his nose along the smooth plane of Sam’s abdomen, then dragged his open lips around the base of Sam’s dick. 

Dean moved his mouth across the length of Sam as he palmed Sam’s balls, taking his time to feel the bare skin under his fingertips. And Sam was simultaneously dying for Dean’s full attention and for his brother to get this show on the road. So, he encouraged Dean with a hand scrubbed over the top of his head and to the back, fingers gripping into his scalp. Whispering a breathy, “Dean.”

There was the return of a grumbly, “Sammy,” before Dean wrapped his lips around the head of Sam’s dick, and Sam couldn’t form a single word for a few solid minutes. Dean worked him good with a steady rhythm, lips slick up and down the shaft, firm pressure even when Dean took him in deep. His fingers kept pulling at Sam’s balls, touching and exploring, switching up with a firm tug and rolling in his palm when his mouth came to the tip and he sucked around the rim of Sam’s dick. 

The rocking of Sam’s hips took over anything else in his mind and he met each bob of Dean’s head until he was stuttering nonsense and shaking. His mind was further blown when Dean held firm and stayed close to swallow every thing Sam gave him, like he’d been doing this his whole life.

Sam thought maybe they should talk about that. Among … other stuff. 

But right now, his knees were weak and his head wouldn’t stop spinning, so he backed up to fall on his bed. Starfished out, Sam stared at the ceiling as he came back to himself and he realized he should probably reciprocate. Rising to his elbows, Sam looked at Dean still kneeling on the floor, leaning forward with his hands on his thighs, face bright red and eyes blown dark. 

There was a quick flash of Demon Dean before Sam’s eyes, but when he blinked, there was nothing but a blush on his brother's cheeks, lower lip sucked in nervously, and a hand pushing over the side of Dean’s head, all shy and earnest. That was pure Dean, all chagrined in front of his little brother. 

“So, I, uh,” Dean said as Sam tried, “Should I, uh.”

Their eyes met for the first time since this started. It had probably only been five minutes, but it was an eternity for Sam. He found himself staring at a whole new world.

And maybe he’d stand alone on this side of the rift and they’d bury whatever this was somewhere far below the surface, deeper than hell, where neither of them could ever pull it back out.

But then, Sam became emboldened by the large tent in Dean’s pants. He laughed a little, cleared his throat, and said, “We should take care of that.”

Dean seemed to think on it, eyebrows furrowing and mouth scrunching up. Suddenly, there was Sam’s big brother again, all endearing as Dean was confused and asking, “Does that mean I have to shave, too?”

Sam laughed, well and good. “Maybe tomorrow.” Then motioned Dean over. “In the meantime, get off your knees and get over here.”


End file.
